


Steve Rogers’ Apartment for the All Too Alive, Alert and Aching

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Series: Alliterative Domiciles [6]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Brainwashing, Clint and Natasha are a sword and shield, F/F, M/M, OT3, bruce is protective, bucky likes poetry and bad jokes, in which the fluff is buried in angst, jail break, natasha is a bamf, pepper <3 Steve, tony and steve becoming bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team distracts Steve for the day and everything goes according to plan. Except no one told Steve there was a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve Rogers’ Apartment for the All Too Alive, Alert and Aching

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so glad to have finished this on Steve's birthday! Happy birthday, Cap! 
> 
> And thanks to all my lovely readers as always.

Steve woke up in the center of his too large bed, covered by a quilt Tabitha had made him. At ninety-two, Tabitha couldn’t leave the house or cook for herself, but she could still piece together brightly colored cloth as long as someone else threaded the needle for her. Steve had spent many happy afternoons threading her needles and listening to her stories after delivering her a hot meal. The quilt was a kaleidoscope of yellows, greens and blues because, Tabitha had said upon its presentation, Steve reminded her of a sunny day. 

For the last two weeks, he’d fallen asleep in a too small metal chair in an observation room. He’d missed his quilt and Tony Stark approved mattress. He would probably still be in the metal chair, watching the man who wore Bucky’s face, if Pepper hadn’t shown up. Steve had been expecting someone from the team to come for him, of course. He would have done the same for them. He had prepared a careful statement that would make it clear that he wasn’t going to budge without hurting anyone’s feelings or making Tony roll his eyes. Steve had been ready to argue. 

What he had not been ready for was Pepper arriving, setting aside her cellphone and sitting next to him. They’d watched the man with Bucky’s face stare with blank rage at the wall. They watched him pace for a while. They watched him refuse the food delivered through a slot in the door. They watched him have a quiet conversation with a tense Natasha. They watched him go still as marble when she left. 

“Come home.” Pepper said after hours of sitting quietly at his side. “We miss you.” 

As if she had cast a spell on him, he got up and followed her out of the dank room and out into a humid city night. A car idled next to the sidewalk, she got in and Steve followed. They didn’t talk on the drive though he could feel her eyes on him, steady and evaluating. When they reached the Tower, she put a hand at the small of his back and propelled him towards the elevator. 

“Pepper...” He started then trailed off, words escaping him. The elevator launched upwards. 

“Hey.” Bruce greeted them when they got off the elevator. He pushed a mug of aromatic tea into Steve’s hand and handed Pepper a covered tray. 

“Thanks.” She leaned over Steve to peck Bruce on the cheek. Then she pressed on and Steve followed her up the cool marble steps as if attached to her wrist with an invisible string. 

Pepper opened the door to his suite, set down the covered tray on the little table in the corner and looked pointedly at the chair next to it. Steve sat. She uncovered the tray to reveal a generous helping of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. 

“You forgot the pie, apparently.” Tony appeared in the door with a slice of blueberry pie and an absent minded kiss for Pepper. He paced the edges of the suite, looking curiously at Steve’s knick-knacks and scattered drawings while talking a mile a minute about the bizarre tactics he was using to try to artificially manufacture more vibranium. Steve ate automatically as Tony talked, barely tasting anything. 

“Done?” Pepper asked. 

“Yeah.” He set down his fork.

“Bedtime for all good national icons.” Tony buzzed back to Pepper’s side, fingers tapping over the edge of the table. 

“Oh, I’m not going to-” 

“Here.” Pepper handed over a white undershirt and loose grey pajama bottoms that Steve always slept in. “Go change in the bathroom.” 

Escaping from her gravitational pull did not help clarify anything. His head was stuffed with cotton and when he met his eyes over the sink they were bloodshot and heavy lidded. There were too many muffling layers between him and the world. Brushing his teeth felt foreign and distant as the sun. 

When he emerged, the quilt was turned down and Pepper was gone with only the scent of her expensive shampoo leaving behind any clue that she’d ever been there. He took the hint, pulling the quilt over his head. He waited for the nightmares to come. 

Instead he woke to an unreasonably bright morning, Tabitha’s quilt settled over him. He still felt wounded and stiff underneath his skin, but no amount of sleep would fix that. At least the world had lost the muffled quality, sound and sight rushing back in with vengeance. He gave himself five minutes under the relative safety of the blanket and the warm glint of the sun, before heaving himself to his feet. Someone knocked on the door. Bemused, he opened it to reveal Natasha in black jogging pants and the sports bra she used as a shirt when she ran. It was an outfit that made it difficult to look her in the eye. 

“Let’s go.” 

“Go where?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t just-” 

“You think that serum is going to keep you young and healthy forever?” She arched an arm over her head, joints bending improbably with the stretch. “Come on, soldier.” 

“Natasha, I get what you’re trying to do, but I really-” 

“You have three minutes to get ready. No is not an acceptable response.” 

The day was blazingly hot, too hot for any sane person to go for a long run. Everything smelled like the depths of the subway, the sidewalk was slick with the condensation from a hundred window air conditioners and the pavement steamed. 

Natasha’s sweat dripped steadily from the back of her neck to pool at the small of her back, but she gave away no sign of fatigue even as they pushed well past her usual six miles. She curved their path into the green depths of a small park and under awnings, effortlessly moving from shade to shade and taking deep swigs of her seemingly endless water bottle. 

“You can’t tire me out.” He warned as they entered into the depths of their eleventh mile. 

“No talking.”

By mile thirteen her eyes were glassy and her even pace started to degrade into ragged ruins. 

“I’m calling a car to take us back.” He decided, sitting firmly down on a bench until she stopped and stretched. 

“There is a place you can go.” She said when they were in the safe embrace of a black towncar, a sports drink already half-drunk hanging limply from her hand. “When you’ve run far enough. Did you get there?” 

He thought about mile nine when everything had narrowed to the pound of his feet on the ground, the sun on his back and the breath in his lungs. When his body became a machine and consciousness limited to maintenance levels. 

“Yes.” He let his head roll to the left and right, spine a loose curve. 

“Good.” 

When they arrived home, she disappeared into the depths of the building. Hunger caught up with him and he ate right from the fridge, clearing out leftover odds and ends from a half dozen meals, including the remains of Bruce’s meatloaf. Finally full, something tightened again in his chest and he made for his suite intent on showering then heading back to SHIELD. Sneakers abandoned by the door, he took the stairs with accidental stealth. It was the only way he could have come upon Clint and Natasha in a private moment. He immediately regretted it.

Steve had never really been comfortable with casual intimacy. He didn’t know how to explain to the team that it had nothing to do with being from the forties and everything to do with being himself. There had never been a chance for him to become comfortable with anything more that a brotherly hug or slap on the shoulder. Life before the serum had been about survival with no resources and a lone friend, who served as family too. Afterwards, it was a roller coaster that left him with only enough resources to hang on and hope. Peggy had been a promise at the end, stolen away by ice and time at the last possible moment. There had never been a chance to really kiss her, to have her hand on the small of his back or for her to fill his arms. There had never been anyone he could reach for because they would allow a touch, a hug or a kiss. 

The simple, pathetic fact of it was that until Tony had hugged him one lonely chill night, Steve had decided that he could do without it. Then warm arms had reeled him, waking something primal and wanting in him. Reminding him that people craved touch, needed it like air and water. 

Not that he wanted Tony. Tony was explosions, quips and complexes. Tony was knives and smiles that bled at the edges. Tony gave away his body like he could build himself another. Since moving in, Steve had walked in on dozens of moments that set his cheeks aflame: Tony straddling Bruce in an armchair with a hand in dark curls and mouth on Bruce’s ear; Tony carrying Pepper to their bedroom with her legs wrapped around his waist; Tony drunk, strung out with fatigue, head buried in Bruce’s lap muttering terrible things about a man Steve had thought he knew; Tony with his arms wrapped around Pepper as she made coffee, kissing the back of her neck. 

He thought he would be used to these surprise attacks. It was just Tony, greedy, affectionate Tony, who was an explosion. 

But Clint and Natasha were different. Intellectually, Steve knew they were some kind of couple. They worked together like a sword and shield, fought in tight low whispers and Clint settled at Natasha’s feet whenever she sat down like a loyal supplicant. Steve knew they were together. Understood that and commanded them accordingly, knowing they would work better as a unit. 

In action though they were more like fond brother and sister. Steve had never before seen them so much as hold hands. They were discrete by nature, a sharp counterpoint to the messy affections of the rest of the household. 

Even now, they were barely touching. Their only point of contact aside from their lips was Natasha’s hand wrapped loosely around Clint’s wrist. There were no tongues involved, only a long easy exchange. 

That was what Steve wanted, he realized, even as he backed down the steps to give them their privacy. He wanted to reach out and have someone reach back with that respect, that level of care and understanding. 

After counting to ten, he went back up the stairs with an intentional thump to the steps. When he reached the top again, Natasha was gone, the door to her room cracked open. 

“Hey.” Clint was still standing there, arms crossed over his chest. “You heading back to SHIELD?” 

“Yes. I wanted to thank Natasha for-” 

“Don’t.” Clint shrugged. “It wasn’t just for you.” 

Steve wanted to kick himself. He knew that Natasha and the man that wore Bucky’s face had had a relationship. The long angry talks between them had elucidated on what the official reports had left out. Of course she wanted to get out, to take a break and breathe a little. 

“Is she-” 

“We have it covered.” Clint made a shooing motion towards Steve’s room. “Shower. Take a nap maybe. Fury has you banned from the facility until after dinner.” 

“Why?” 

“You were scaring the Junior Agents.” 

Before Steve could pursue that, Clint had turned his back on him and walked into Natasha’s room, the door closing with finality behind him. 

The problem was that now Steve wasn’t hungry or tired or in motion. Now he could think and all of it came rushing back in. He was supposed to be somewhere else now, sitting vigil. Waiting as he had outside a medical tent in the rain for a nurse to come and fetch him. Waiting for word that he hadn’t saved Bucky just to have him die. No nurse had come then. Bucky himself had limped back out, smacking Steve on the back and asking for a beer. 

That wasn’t going to happen this time. He hadn’t needed the somber counselors to tell him that. Bucky as Steve had known him was dead. There had been time for Steve to properly mourn him in the past year. Time to hunker down inside of himself and keen like a wounded animal. Time to readjust himself to a world turned strange and cynical. Time to figure out how to live with people that had never known him when he was fragile. 

Now he had to wait again for some unknown man to emerge from the Winter Soldier’s icy shell. 

There was a knock on the door as he pulled on clean pants. He pasted on a weary smile and opened it to find Tony looking determined in a way that could only spell danger. 

“So. You. Me. Baseball game.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I have a box for the Yankees. Apparently it’s a good idea for me to be seen in it once and awhile.” Tony shrugged. “Come on. First pitch is in twenty minutes.” 

“I don’t need to be babysat.” 

“Do I look like a babysitter to you?” Tony took a pair of mirrored sunglasses out of his pocket and slid them on. “Every time you’re seen with me, our stocks jump. I think if I can get you at a baseball game with me eating some apple pie and singing the anthem, the public might forgive us for that incident with the Empire State Building.” 

“Tony.” Steve said heavily. 

“Steve.” Tony repeated in the same tone. “Put on your goddamn shoes and let’s go before I have to break the sound barriers to get there in time.” 

In the garage, Tony made a beeline for a low slung cherry red convertible that looked fast standing still. The roof had already been tucked away and Tony jumped over the door into the driver’s seat. It looked awkward. When Steve opened the door, it was already clear that it would be a precarious fit. His knees jammed against the glove compartment, even with the seat all the way back. 

“It’ll be a short drive.” Tony clapped him on the shoulder, even as he shifted into gear and peeled out in reverse. 

Steve wasn’t sure how he’d managed to live in the Tower for over a year without Tony driving him somewhere. He wasn’t going to wait that long again. Tony drove with precision and the kind of speed that made conversation in a convertible impossible. The wind whipped through Steve’s hair and pulled at his clothes. It wasn’t quite the same thrill as hitching a ride with Iron Man, but he could happily accept the tradeoff of not being mid-battle when it happened. 

Tony took a curve and Steve smiled for the first time in weeks. He pretended not to see Tony’s returning grin of triumph. He almost signaled at Tony to keep going when they reached the stadium. No. There was running and there was running. Steve sighed and the car slowed until Tony was pulling almost sedately into a quiet lot where a lot of money changed hands. 

Tony’s ‘box’ turned out to be a plush room filled with couches and a television inexplicably set to the same game about to be played on the field. 

“Right.” Tony looked between Steve and the room. “So this was a terrible idea.”

“No, really, it’s fine.” 

“Give me five minutes.” Tony held up a finger and started dialing someone on his phone. 

Steve looked down onto the bright green field cut through with even chalk lines and groomed dirt. He and Bucky had gone to Dodgers games whenever they had enough money to scrap together. They’d sit in the cheap seats and eat whatever was left of their savings in the form of fragrant hot dogs. 

“Here.” Tony was on him suddenly, sliding a pair of sunglasses over Steve’s nose. The world went a little grey. A baseball cap went over his hair, sending away the remaining light. 

“How am I supposed to see?” 

“It’s a sunny day, you’ll manage. It’s either that or get mobbed for autographs.” Tony shrugged. “Your choice.” 

“Who’s going to mob us up here?” 

“Why would we stay up here?” 

“Why wouldn’t we?” 

“Just follow along, Cap.” 

They went down and down, only emerging outside when there were no steps left. A solicitous usher appeared all smiles and ‘what can I do for you’, settling them right up at the railing. Even through the sunglasses, Steve could see all the lush detail of the park and the fine hairs on the back of the catcher’s neck. 

“Were these seats just available?” 

“They’re Stark Industry seats.” Tony shrugged, leaning back far enough to put his feet up on the railing. “I think we partially own the team. I’ve never been clear on the details.” 

“Sometimes knowing you is a little like knowing an alien.” Steve told him. “You speak my language, yet your world is very very different.” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Still put my pants on one leg at a time and punch out killer robots with a mean left hook like anyone else.” 

The game started after that and Steve lost himself in shouting encouragements or making what Tony dubbed ‘sad buffalo noises’. He’d never gotten comfortable with the Yankees as his home team, but this was an inter-league game against the Giants. Hating the Giants on principle still came naturally. 

What surprised him was Tony’s increasing engagement. He had started the game half-asleep, apparently content that he’d done his Steve distracting duty. A particularly pathetic fumble by a left fielder, woke him up a little and then slowly, he was drawn in. By the end of the game, they were shouting together, Tony on his feet and waving his arms as if to get the shortstop’s attention. At the seventh inning stretch, he ordered them both beers then proceeded to drink both of them while Steve systematically devoured two pretzels and something Tony called a ‘churro’. 

“You’re covered in sugar.” Tony whipped out his phone, probably to take a picture. 

“There was a failure of the napkin system.” Steve brushed his hands over his clothes, sending cascades of white grains to the floor. “I didn’t know you liked baseball.” 

“What’s not to like? Fresh air, greasy food and the right to tell complete strangers to go fuck themselves. Winning combination.”

By the time the last pitch was thrown, the first amber shades of oncoming twilight were filtering through Steve’s sunglasses. He folded them and tucked them into his pocket, blinking back against the sudden reintroduction of the sun. 

“Can we take the long way home?” He asked as casually as he could manage. 

“Your wish is my command, Cap.” 

They drove in a long arch, the radio blaring something incomprehensible. Steve watched the sun sink below the horizon and thought of nothing at all. 

A phone rang cutting off the music with a sharp atonal mewl, startling Steve out of his blissful silence. 

“Stark.” Tony touched something on the wheel. 

“Sir.” JARVIS intoned. “Ms. Potts asked me to inform Mr. Rogers that he is required back at SHIELD.” 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed back?” 

“The situation has changed, sir. Might I’d advise that you take the next exit, Mr. Stark. There is a shortcut to the facility.” 

“Thanks, JARVIS.” 

The joy of the day disappeared, leaving him tight with fear and worry. Tony didn’t bother talking to him just drove as if the Devil himself were after them. When they pulled into the underground parking lot, Steve launched himself out of the car, waving his ID vaguely at security before taking the stairs. The elevators were too slow. 

No one stopped his progress, even once he reached the containment cell. The guard only nodded and when he tried the door handle, it opened smoothly for him. It was the first time he’d been allowed in without a flock of agents accompanying him. 

The man who wore Bucky’s face was backed into a corner, fists clenching and unclenching as he watched the door. The bionic hand made a soft exhalation every time he let go. 

“Hey.” Steve said, wishing for any other words to come to him. 

“Oh, thank God. Steve...” And the man began to cry, ugly jagged sobs that shook him and Steve was on him an instant, pulling him in. “Tell me you’re real.” 

“It’s all 8s and 6s.” The trigger phrase they’d used for hostage situations, a phrase Steve had never thought he’d use again. 

“Everything in my head,” Bucky rested his forehead on Steve’s shoulder, “it’s all a mess. Chopped up and re-edited like a propaganda film. The things I remember...the things I don't....” 

“They weren’t you. They-” 

“Natasha told me. She said...a lot of things.” He clung on, hands digging almost painfully into Steve’s biceps. "I trusted- trust..... She’s a good girl.” 

There have been a lot of things men had called Natasha. Steve couldn’t imagine good girl was usually one of them. Natasha, who had taken him out running this morning, who must have known that today they would crack Bucky wide open. He wondered if she had arranged this day for him, to spare him or to keep him out of the way.

“Yeah, I like her.” He walked them toward the bolted down cot, so they could sit side by side. 

“I almost killed her.” Bucky stared down at his hands still clenching and unclenching, the bionic one wheezing. “The only person in all those years that treated me.... that saw me. And I put a gun to her head.” 

“She understood why. You were triggered by whoever did this to you.” 

“That’s not exactly a comfort.” Bucky finally looked up at him, confusion writ large over his face. “I was ready to die for you, you know. When I fell. I knew...there was always a chance. I could have died a hero’s death. Wouldn’t that have been better?” 

The Winter Soldier left no trace. It was impossible to guess how many people he’d killed, the trail of blood they would have to follow. He had been ruthless and well-trained. A horror show. 

“No.” Steve wrapped a hand around Bucky’s natural hand, holding it a shade to tightly. “I need you with me. I woke up here, Buck... there’s nothing, no one left. I’ve made friends, but most days I’m a stranger in a strange land. I was living with it, made peace with it maybe. But when we found you...it was like everything could make sense again.”

“Don’t get sappy on me, Rogers.” Bucky laughed rustily, hindered by the tight knot of emotion in his throat. “Don’t think I could take it just now.” 

“I don’t know how else to be. It’s kind of a sappy moment.” 

“Tell me a joke. Something new.” Bucky leaned heavily against him and Steve instinctively wrapped an arm around his shoulders. In another lifetime, it was Bucky who held Steve close and told stories when it was too cold to think and his breath had gone ragged with the threat of an asthma attack. 

“I don’t...” Then he paused, something from the long list of movies the others had him watch coming back to him. “Knock, knock.” 

“Who’s there?” Bucky asked, already smiling faintly. 

“Go fuck yourself.” Steve said in a deadpan. Bucky paused for a second then started to laugh, great heaving shakes with his face buried against Steve’s arm. 

Steve kept at it, telling him terrible joke after terrible joke as he recalled them from movies, from Tony, even Fury’s disturbing one liners that were more profanity than hilarity. They laughed in painful jags together until the door opened again. Steve tensed for the arrival of an agent or worse Fury himself, but instead there was Bruce looking sleep rumpled. 

“Hey.” Bruce rubbed his hands together in a way Steve hadn’t seen in months. “Fury wants to see you Steve. Thought maybe I could sit in instead of Natasha.” 

“She alright?” Bucky asked immediately, straightening up. 

“Just worn out.” Bruce said carefully. “She won’t leave Fury’s office, so Clint is in there with her and Pepper has been standing guard outside the door for over an hour. She sent me to come get you.” 

“Where’s Tony?” Steve frowned, puzzling out that arrangement. 

“Making phone calls in Coulson’s old office.” 

“What am I missing here?” Steve studied Bruce, who looked blankly back at him.

“Go up to Fury and find out, I’m just the messenger.” Bruce held the door open and Steve cast a nervous look to Bucky. 

“We’ll be fine.” Bruce said. “I think we have a lot in common.” 

“I’m hardly going anywhere.” Bucky said wryly. 

“Be kind to him.” Steve whispered as he passed Bruce. 

“If I don’t understand, who would?” Bruce pat Steve on the back. 

Fury’s office occupied half a floor at the top of the SHIELD building. It often doubled as a mission control and as such was dominated by a massive touch screen table that reeked of Stark design. After Pepper waved him in, a phone pressed tightly to her ear, Steve was greeted to the sight of a spy standoff around the table. No one actually looked angry. Natasha was sitting cross-legged on one corner of the table, the blueprints of their Tower flashing in blue and green lines in front of her. Clint sat in a chair a foot to her left, ostensibly playing solitaire. At the wall of windows, Fury stood with his back to them, looking out over the city. Appearance wise, all was calm and quiet. 

In reality, it felt exactly like stepping onto a minefield. 

“I was told you wanted to see me, sir.” 

“At ease, soldier.” Clint murmured. “We called you up.” 

“You should be a part of this conversation.” Natasha stood up, data scattering under her feet. She walked across the table, kicking away charts and scrolling lines of text until she jumped neatly down to stand next to him. “They want to bury James away in their holding pens.” 

“He is a dangerous man, agent.” Fury intoned, not turning. “What else would you have me do?” 

“We’re all of us dangerous.” She didn’t raise her voice, but the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stood up at her tone. “None of us, except Rogers, deserve the trust placed in us. But we have it and we have never abused it. What makes James any different?”

“Until six hours ago, he had no idea that James was his name. They stripped him down, Agent Romanov. They left him with nothing. You were a different case. The therapists aren’t sure it’s possible to recover from what was done to him. The integration therapy used on those with dissociative disorders isn’t advisable considering what they’d be integrating him with.” 

“And what’s that, sir?” Clint asked mildly. “An assassin? As we all know that nobody endorses assassins in this organization.” 

“I believe it is his potential loyalties that are the issue.” Natasha said mildly. 

“I run an organization to protect the citizens of this country.” Fury turned around at last. Someone had punched him recently, the bruise darkening on his jaw. “Barnes is a danger to them until proven otherwise. I can and will detain him as necessary.” 

“Oh, see that’s where you are so very wrong.” Tony was suddenly there, elbowing between Natasha and Steve. He had a stack of papers in his hand. “There’s a problem here, Nick. Turns out, SHIELD is missing something vital. A little something the judicially minded like to call ‘evidence’.” 

“The file on the Winter Soldier’s activities go back decades-” 

“And not one of them has so much as a fingerprint or a photo. No one lived to testify. In fact, we only have his word and Natasha’s that he even is the Winter Soldier. I would say Barnes is hardly a reliable reporter at the moment.” Tony winked at Natasha. “What do you say?” 

“I suspected that he was the Winter Soldier, but until the incident at the Tower, I had never seen him identified as such.” She spoke slowly. You stepped carefully in a minefield. You never forgot for a second where you were. “I can neither confirm nor deny what crimes he may have been involved in.” 

“So the only incident we can actually pin on him was the attempted murder of our fair Natasha-” 

“I’m not pressing charges.” She cut in. “It was a misunderstanding.” 

“Right.” Tony put the stack of papers down. “Now. I’m not arguing that the man isn’t unstable. I think we can all agree that it would be best for everyone if he talked to a lot of nice doctors and was kept under close observation of people who can handle him. Considering his outsized strength and skills, the only group that we could responsibly ask would be ourselves. Who better to handle him then us?” 

“You want to take him to the Tower.” Fury walked over to desk, paging through what Stark had dumped there. “We have doctors at SHIELD who are experienced in these matters. We have the correct facilities. You want him to go live in that madhouse?”

“Ah, but see, that is not your choice.” With a final flourish, Tony laid down a yellowed, brittle document. “From Barnes’ enlistment paperwork. His next of kin was listed as one Steve Rogers.” 

Every eye in the room went to him. 

“There was no one else.” Steve looked down at the degrading paper with familiar spiked handwriting. "We were both orphans."

“Well, we can all have a good cry over that later,” Tony turned to Fury. “your own counselors have declared Barnes incompetent which puts Steve in the legal standing of guardian.” 

“I assume you have the paperwork to back that up.” Fury sounded weary, but also a little something like proud. 

“And a phalanx of lawyers if required.” Tony stood a little straighter. “So what do you say, Cap, leave Barnes to the tender mercies of SHIELD or take him back home with us? I promise, I’ll get in the best trauma specialists money can buy. And some good locks for everyone’s doors until we’re all comfortable.” 

It was a terrible idea. Bucky could revert at any point and a lock wouldn’t stop him from killing them all in their sleep. 

“I want to take him home.” 

Everything moved quickly after that. Clint and Natasha vanished, maybe into the ceiling, and Tony’s phone rang obnoxiously. Pepper came in, typing so hard that her phone made a creaking protest. 

“Extraction time is now.” She muttered foot bumping Steve’s discretely. 

“How long have you been planning this?” He followed her out the door bewildered. 

“As soon as we knew who Barnes was and what happened to him.” She zig-zagged through the corridors without looking up from her phone. “It wasn’t a hard leap that Fury would try to contain him. Bruce objects to that kind of thing on principal and Tony loves to defy authority.” 

“What about you? What about Natasha? The Tower is her home and bringing in Bucky has to threaten that.” 

“They loved each other once. It’s amazing what that’ll do for you outlook.” Pepper started down the stairs, her heels clicking against the steps. “We had a house meeting while you were keeping watch over him.” 

“You could have told me. I would have helped.” 

“We needed to do this for you.” She looked up from her phone and smiled tightly at him. “We owe you.” 

“We all work together in the field. No one owes anyone anything.” 

“Not for that. Though, I appreciate you making sure Tony doesn’t kill himself out of sheer bullheadedness.” She pushed open a door. “It would be so very easy for us to veer into darkness. We need your steadiness, your clear ideas of right and wrong.”

“You had that under control long before I showed up.” 

“It would be nice if that were true,” she pushed into the now familiar block of cells, “but what everyone seems to forget was that I was quite happy to work with Tony when he was making weapons. It was Tony who learned how to say no to that. All I did was nag him about his drinking which I think we can all agree was symptom of a greater issue.” 

“But-” 

“Take the compliment.” She brushed a stray hair from her face and knocked on Bucky’s cell door. “You’re the heart, Steve. We weren’t going to stand by and watch you get broken.” 

“We’re ready.” Bruce said as he opened the door. 

“This feels oddly familiar.” Bucky said dryly as they stepped into the corridor. “Steve, we have to stop reuniting like this.” 

“Stop getting caught.” Steve replied tightly. 

“Let’s go.” Pepper led the way, phone back in her hands. “The longer we linger, the longer Fury has to find a loophole.” 

“Is this the best idea?” Bucky asked, gamely following after. 

“It’s an awful idea.” Bruce pushed his glasses further up his nose. “But we’re good with awful ideas.” 

The ubiquitous black towncar was waiting in the parking lot, idling. The windows were tinted so dark that there was no view of the city from inside it’s air conditioned comfort. No way for Bucky to see how the world had changed around him. Someone had thought this through carefully. It was already better staged than Steve's introduction to the future.

Bruce slid bonelessly next to Pepper, who switched to typing one handed so she could run her fingers through Bruce’s hair. Steve sat across from them, watching Bucky as he got in. 

“Classy.” Bucky looked around with raised eyebrows. “What kind of crowd have you fallen in with?” 

“Billionaire, assassin, CEO, Norse god, genius crowd.” Steve leaned against the window. “I have a feeling you’ll like Tony best.” 

“Everyone does.” Bruce sighed. “Except me. Pepper’s my favorite” 

“Shameless.” Pepper laughed, strained, but real. “And also a lie.” 

“I take it back. This is way better than the last time I was prison-breaked.” Bucky reached for Steve’s hand. “You should always bring me good looking, funny accomplices.” 

“I’ll make a note.” 

They parked underground and again Steve made a note to thank them for the careful orchestration. They took the elevator straight up. 

“Steve he’s rooming with you.” ” Tony was standing by the elevator, not even pretending he hadn’t been waiting for them. “Until we can get his suite sorted out.” 

“To keep me out of trouble?” Bucky smiled vaguely. “Good idea.” 

“Also, I want your arm.” Tony reached out with grabby hands. 

Everyone stared at him. 

“For science!” He protested. “I can rebuild it so it fits better. I can see that it doesn’t sit right and it has to be uncomfortable.” 

“You want to disarm me.” Bucky said flatly. “You can be honest about it.” 

“He’s being honest. An idiot, but an honest idiot.” Bruce tsked. “But we’ll deal with it later. SHIELD already hit it with a pretty strong hack. It won’t work as much more than a regular arm at the moment.” 

“We have a technology date later.” Tony turned his grabby hands to Bruce, who went into them with a huff and a smile. Bucky turned to Steve with a curious look. Steve only shook his head. 

“Best not to ask. I’ll tell you later.”

Steve led the way up to his room and along the walk, the others split away. Natasha was last, pausing at her suite door. 

“If you need me.” 

“I’ll call.” Steve smiled at her, hoping that conveyed the enormous depths of his gratitude. 

“Good night, James.” 

“Night, Tasha.” Bucky waved a few fingers at her and watched her close her door. “She isn’t going to sleep tonight.”

“She might. Clint will take watch. Or Bruce.” 

“I’m going to need a flowchart to understand this house, aren’t I?” 

“We have one. Well. Tony made one. There was a concussion involved. Some of the lines trail off in the middle.” Steve stepped into his suite and was surprised by the warmth that welled up in him. “So. This is home.” 

“Yeah, I can tell.” Bucky zeroed in on Steve’s photo collection. He picked up a group shot of the Howling Commandos that JARVIS had provided Steve after a late night request. “We look young.” 

Steve hadn’t aged a day in seventy years on ice. Bucky had gained only a few years, marked by the length of his hair and a few hairline cracks around his eyes. If someone took a picture of them right now, they would never have guessed that any time had passed at all. 

“Yeah,” Steve gently took the picture from him. “Yeah, we did.” 

“They’re gone, aren’t they?” 

“They lived long good lives. No one else died during the war.” He set the picture reverently down next to Peggy’s portrait. “I’ve met some of their kids.” 

“You’ll have to tell me about that someday.” Bucky turned slowly around the room. “Nice place.” 

“You should see the bathroom.” Steve pointed to the door. “Maybe take a close look at the shower.” 

“You saying I smell, Rogers?”

“Your stench has a stench.” 

The tenement they had grown up had one bathroom a floor. Everyone knew your business. Steve used to hate it, but now it meant he could sit on the toilet while Bucky showered and neither of them gave a damn. He looked for the subtle differences in Bucky’s body, finding muscle and ugly scars where once there had been smooth planes. 

“You keep staring and I’m going to start thinking there’s something to it.” Bucky chided, stepping onto the bathmat. 

“You’re here,” Steve wiped his hands on his jeans and stood, “you’re here and you’re a mess, but Bucky...I’m going to stare a lot. Just...because.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky’s shoulders relaxed, “yeah, I get you.” 

Steve’s clothes would have been laughable on Bucky. Luckily someone had come in while they were away, leaving behind a small stack that would get them through the next few days. Steve touched the soft black t-shirt that sat on top and thought about moral compasses, teams and sharing resources. He thought about the Howling Commandos, about the Avengers and grief. He thought about Bruce going into a building he hated for someone he’d never met, Tony driving with reckless abandon and Pepper ruthlessly tearing at an institution that made up a good part of her livelihood. He thought about Clint and Natasha kissing in the hallway and the kind of person it took to give up the safety they fought tooth and claw to get. 

“What’s Nirvana?” Bucky asked as he pulled on the t-shirt, studying the logo upside down. 

“It’s a band or a version of heaven. Depends who you ask.” Steve pressed a hand to his eyes to stop tears that were still only a hot threat in the back of his throat. “You should probably sleep.” 

“You’re staying, right?” 

“Where else would I go?” 

Steve watched Bucky climb uneasily into the bed. The quilt was neatly folded at the foot. Steve shook it open and before Bucky could protest, spread it over him. It looked ridiculous settling around the bionic arm and scar creased flesh, but Steve smoothed it down anyway. 

“Lay your sleeping head, my love,” Bucky murmured when Steve leaned in close, “human on my faithless arm.” 

“You remember that?” 

“Hard to forget a drunk Frenchman reciting poetry to fall asleep.” Bucky wasn’t laughing, wasn’t quite looking at Steve. “I couldn’t...I don’t remember the rest.” 

“Time and fevers burn away, individual beauty from thoughtful children, and the grave proves the child ephemeral;” Steve recited, sitting on the edge of the bed. “But in my arms till break of day let the living creature lie: Mortal, guilty, but to me the entirely beautiful.” 

“Yeah. The entirely beautiful.” Bucky huffed and turned his face into the pillow. He fell asleep not long after. 

Steve stayed awake, waiting in the dark, wrapped in the care of his team and finally, finally, at home.

**Author's Note:**

> There is an epilogue fic coming. I thought Steve would finish it off, but I realized I wanted a little more closure.
> 
> Steve's bad knock knock joke is from Catch Me If You Can.
> 
> The poem Steve and Bucky are quoting is by W.H. Auden. I've probably used it before as it's my favorite.


End file.
